Wings to the Wall
by Legolyn Fay and Avery
Summary: When Zachariah finally snaps, he threatens all the things Dean holds dear. And when drastic measures are taken to protect those he loves, Dean has to face that sometimes, there are worse fates to suffer than death. Rated M for violence and language.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Wings to the Wall  
Authors: Seven Hyde and Twisted Skyward, also known as Legolyn Fay and Avery  
Rated M: For graphic violence and foul language.  
Pairing: None, although you could read it as Dean/Castiel if you wanted too.

Disclaimer: Supernatural, it's characters and concepts do not belong to us. This is a non-profit, non-riot fic, written solely for enjoyment. No infringement is intended.

Authors' Note: This story is a work in progress, in that we are working on it as we go along. It's an AU to the extent that it doesn't fall in the realm of the series, but the characters and their world are the same. Enjoy!

Dean's eyes fluttered as he was dragged back to consciousness. Pain was already flickering through his body, not sharp, not yet, but it made him groan all the same. He looked around, trying to remember where he was. Sam. Where was Sam?

Zachariah stepped out of the darkness, looking at him with pity and smugness. "Dean. Oh, Dean..." He shook his head. "We warned you about this. We told you, the Might of Heaven would strike down on you, and you would suffer worse fates than those of hell. But even I never thought it would get this far..."

Dean dragged himself to his knees and pushed himself up to his feet. He swayed for a moment as blackness washed over his vision, but he remained upright. Breaths. Deep breaths. Something sharp stabbed at his side with every breath. A few ribs were definitely fractured. What the hell had happened? "Fuck you, you winged freak, where the hell is my brother?"

"Sam is already here, Dean. He is waiting for you in the next room, as is Castiel." Zachariah sighed. "You all had such promise, all three of you. Breaking you will not be easy." He looked at Dean. "But it will be done."

Dean glared at Zachariah. "What have you done to them? You bastard, what are you doing?"

"Come with me." Zachariah dragged him, partly physically, partly with his angelic mojo to the next room. Dean's eyes widened when he saw Sam, chained to a similar six pointed rack as the one Dean had experienced in Hell. He was stripped to the waist and already his skin was marked and torn. Blood painted his body and bone showed white and pale in places. He was wide awake, and his eyes widened in panic when he saw Dean. "Dean! Zachariah has lost his mind, he's-"

Zachariah silenced him with a wave of his hand

Dean started towards his brother, but Zachariah stopped him with a hand on his collar. Dean spun, raising his arm to push at the arm that held him, but Zachariah held fast, pulling Dean close to his face.

"You haven't let me finish." He turned Dean towards the far wall. There Castiel was chained, his wings extended and nailed in place with heavy spikes to the wall. His feathers were stained with blood, clumping them together, and his feet hung a good six inches off the ground, all his weight on the nails holding him in place. His eyes met Dean, silent, but racked with pain, physical and emotional.

Dean stared, his mind trying to register what he was seeing. His brother and his angel… both in pain he couldn't fix. Dean's shoulders tightened, and when he whirled towards Zachariah, who had wisely stepped out of reach, his face was twisted with rage. "What the fuck are you doing? What do you want?" Without waiting for an answer, he stalked over to where Sam was bound to the hated rack. He reached for the manacles, searching for the lock.

"There is no lock, Dean. They're angel-forged; you won't be able to break them. And, as we speak, the spikes in Castiel's wings are depositing a poison in his bloodstream that will slowly drain first his grace, then his sanity, and finally his life, all before your eyes. It will be painful, very painful. You remember pain, Dean? The pain you endured in hell? The pain you caused?" Zachariah nodded to a nearby table covered in nasty looking implements. "Do you remember?"

Dean remembered everything. The tools of the trade, the trade in which he'd been so aptly trained by Alastair. He remembered being on the wrong end of the tools for 30 years. He knew what everything on that table could do. Dean jerked as flashbacks ripped through his mind. Pain. Blood. His bones visible to the air. His body torn into pieces, only to be put together again. "What do you want?" he whispered.

"I have the antidote to the poison slowly killing the one guardian of Heaven who would stand up for you before our Father. But," he nodded to Sam. "You have to destroy the vessel of Lucifer. If you will not accept Michael, you must do it on your own."

Dean reeled back from the angel. The words pierced him like needles, sharp and deep. He shook his head. "No. Fuck, no. You know what you're asking me to do?" He took a step towards the angel. "You really think I would destroy my brother? You've lost your mind!"

Zachariah stood his ground. "You will, Dean. Or you, along with your hell-spawn brother, will rot in this room for eternity, while Castiel dies before your eyes." He smiled. "I'll leave you to think about it. But no one will leave this room until at least one of you is dead."

"Wait!" Dean held up his hands. "Wait, fine, I say yes. I'll let Michael use me, please, but let my brother go. Let them both go." Dean knew he was begging, but fuck it. If begging would free them, then he'd do it. He would kneel and lick Zachariah's shoes if it would save them.

"Dean, no!" Sam yelled. "Shut up, Sam." Dean's eyes never left Zachariah's. "I'll be Michael's freakin' angel condom if you let them both go free now."

"No!" Zachariah roared. "No, it is too late for that! You have defied us for the last time, and this time, we will show no mercy. You will kill one of them. They are as good as dead already." He motioned to the table. "Get to work. I will check back shortly." And then he's gone.

"No!" Dean yelled. He ran for the door, yanking desperately at the handle, but it did not budge, as he knew it wouldn't. It may as well have been painted onto the wall for all it gave. Dean leaned his forehead into the door as he racked his brain for an answer. A sound of pain from Castiel made him turn and face the room again.

"Dean." Castiel hissed. "Don't. Do not let them win. Michael can find-" he groaned, biting his lip hard. "Find other vessels. You won't find another brother." He looked Dean in the eye. "I'm not afraid of dying."

"I can't do this. I can't." He walked over and touched one of Castiel's wings. They were soft, but under that was hard muscle. "I can't just let you die." He looked over at Sam, whose face was pinched from the pain of the manacles. "I can't kill my brother." He dropped to his knees. He would have taken a thousand years in Hell over this.

"You have to." Castiel murmured, meeting Sam's eyes across the room, asking him silently to help him convince Dean. "You have to let me go. You and Sam, together, you can stop this. You can stop more people from dying." Sam shook his head, wanting to say something, something to get them all three out, alive, and whole. But he could see no way.

Dean glanced at the table that held all the wicked instruments on it. "If..." he took a shuddering breath."If I just...hurt Sam, instead of killing him. Would he let us go?" He didn't know if he could even do that much, but if it was an option, it was worth considering. At least they would all be alive.

Castiel shook his head. "No. Zachariah...I've seen it before. Angels mad with fury. He won't stop, Dean, he won't let you stop. Not until you are destroyed." He looked away, then at the ground. "It...I know it is not my place to ask, but there is one thing, you might do for me."

Dean looked at him. "Yeah. Name it."

The angel looked at the table with the implements, then at his wings, feeling the toxin burning its way through his wings, towards his body. "This poison is...it is slow acting. It will take days to kill me, and you and Sam do not have time to waste." He looked up, steel in his eyes, almost, but not quite masking the fear in them. "Make it quick. Get it over with, now. And get out."

Dean's heart seized at the quiet resolve in the angel's voice. He looked at the expanse of wings on the wall, then at the table. "Cas..." He when to the table, looking at the weapons laid out on it. "Is the poison already in your body, or is it just in your wings?" He walked back towards the trapped angel, saw hanging from his right hand.

If anything, Castiel looks more terrified, pulling at the chains around his wrists. "Dean, no. Please, don't. Just do what I said. Take Sam and go, the device will unlock with the blood of an angel, just...please. Please, listen to me, just once more."

Dean shook his head. "I'm not leaving here without you. Both of you are coming with me." He laid the jagged teeth of the saw against the upper bone of Castiel's wing. "And for both of you to come with me, we have to free you, and with your blood, we can free Sam." He looked at Castiel's terrified face, then turned back to the wing and dragged the saw down, digging into flesh and bone.

Castiel's scream, when Dean cut into him, rocked the room. The lights flickered, the chains around him rattled as he thrashed. "Dean, stop, stop, please, just kill me, Dean don't do this." he begged.

Dean ignored the screams as he had ignored thousands of souls beneath his hands. Blood spattered his face, hands, and clothes. A sharp crack sounded as he cut all the way through the main supporting bone. All that was left was to cut through the flesh and tendons. For that, he needed something smaller. He went to the table and returned with a large, curved knife. Tears were mixing with the holy blood on his face. "I'm so sorry, Cas." And he set knife to flesh.

Castiel's body was racked with sobs as he begged Dean to stop. "Please, Dean. Let me die whole, I beg you!" He looked to Sam for help, blue eyes wide with fear and pain, but Sam turned away, letting his brother lead. It was the only way for them all to survive.

The knife bit its way through the meat of the wing and pain seared through Castiel. He screamed again, his body arching back from the wall, trying vainly to free himself, to be rid of the pain. Red and black swam across his vision and if only he were able to pass out, he would have. But no, his very being, his essence, kept him awake, alert, and horribly aware.

Dean took a step back, wiping the blood from his face. One wing was now completely severed from Castiel's body, held up only by the nails driven through it. A good six inches of wing still stuck out from the angel's back, and Dean knew it would have to be removed later. He shoved that thought to the back of his head, not wanting to picture what that would be like. He picked up the saw from the floor and set it against the bone of the second wing, swallowing bile at the anguish in the angel's blue eyes. "God, Cas, forgive me."

"Dean." Sam's voice cut through the room. "Wait."

Dean jerked back from the angel just in time. "Fuck, Sammy." He turned to his brother. "What?"

"You...you don't have to..." he twisted in the manacles holding him."Let me go. I'll...I'll finish it. You shouldn't have to..."

Dean shook his head. "I'm not letting you do this. God only knows what happens to people who remove the wings from angels." But he dragged his hand through a puddle of Castiel's blood and walked over to where Sam lay captive. The moment the holy blood touched the manacles, they vanished.

Sam reached out and grabbed his brother's sleeve. "Dean. This...this too much, even for you." Castiel looked up, from where his head was hanging, panting. "Dean...please. Just...kill me."

Dean shook free of his brother's grip. "I started it. I'm going to fucking finish it." He retreated back to where Castiel hung by one wing and set the saw to bone again. Fresh blood seared his skin and the screaming began again.

Sam looked away, unable to watch. Castiel was sobbing now, hysterical, begging Dean to stop. "Why, Dean, why, please. I've never hurt you, I've stood by you, why…." Dean wished he would just pass out, every word an arrow of truth, but angels don't faint from pain, and even when Castiel fell silent, he still stared at Dean, his face streaked with tears, his mouth twisted in agony.

The bone broke with a snap as Dean cut through it, and Castiel fell a few inches, now hanging on only by skin and tendons. His weight began to tear the wing from his body, and he keened in sheer agony. Dean grabbed the knife, cutting as quickly as he could, trying to free his angel, to spare him more pain. Finally, the wing was severed, and the wingless angel collapsed to the floor, drenched in his own blood and sobbing. Dean threw the knife across the room, and knelt beside him. "Castiel, I'm sorry, God, I'm so sorry. Forgive me, please, I had to, please-"

"What. Have you. DONE!" Zachariah's voice ripped through the room.

"Dean." Sam swallowed, looking over their heads to where Zachariah was standing, open-mouthed and livid. The room began to shake as the angry angel took in the sight before him.

Castiel lifted his head slightly, looking at Zachariah, eyes awash with pain. "The sigil....draw it. Place my hand on it. Now."

Dean swallowed hard, looking at the blood pooling around them. He coated one hand, holding Castiel tight to his chest with the other, daring Zachariah to take him from him. On the wall between the two wings, he drew the sigil that banished angels at the touch of a hand. Grasping Castiel's wrist with his still bloody hand, he pulled the angel's arm up, reaching his hand towards the symbols as Zachariah stormed towards them.

Zachariah vanished in a flash and a yell, and Castiel looked away from the blood. "We must go...now. Sam...The blood. Mark the panels of the door." His voice was slightly stronger, but he wouldn't meet Dean's eyes.

Sam did as he was told, covering his hand in blood with a wince, then touched it to the door. A brief flash of light blinded them for a moment, and the door clicked open. Dean hauled Castiel to his feet, supporting his weight as best he could. Sam came to Castiel's other side, sharing the weight as they worked their way towards the door and then through it. Castiel's breathing became sharper with each step, eyes set straight ahead, blue and blazing with pain, tears streaking his face. His mouth stayed set, and he bore as much of his own weight as he could. Every nerve in what was left of his wings burned with pain, down to his bones, and he stumbled, crying out.

Dean caught him, but the weight was too much, and all three men fell to the floor in a heap. Castiel whimpered, burying his face in Dean's shoulder as pain seared from the stubs of his wings through his entire body. His skin was cold and clammy, and his breathing was no longer sharp, but shallow. Sam looked at Dean, who met his eyes over the weeping angel, lost and tortured. "This is not good." Sam murmured, gently touching Castiel's hand where it clenched the material of Dean's coat.

"I mean, blood loss aside, who knows what losing their wings does to an angel. What the hell do we do now?"

Dean was at a loss, the guilt of what he had done shuddering through him with every sound Castiel made.

"I don't know, Sammy. He won't die from blood loss. I mean, Bobby and I shot him till we could see daylight through his chest when we met him, and he didn't die." He looked at the damage he'd done to his friend, heart clenching. "But losing his wings..." he shook his head; the horror of what he'd just done hitting him like a wall.

He sighed and hung his head for a moment. "All right. First things first, we need to get the hell out of here. Help me get him up. You take his left side, I'll take his right. Sam nodded. "Ok." Gently as he can, he helped his brother lift the angel off the ground. Castiel moaned, head falling forward limply. "Dean, please. Let me die..."

"Shut up." Dean hissed. "No one is dying today, none of us. Got it?" Castiel said nothing, and Dean swallowed hard. If Cas died, after all this...he'd never forgive himself.

They made their way down the hallway, until they came to a split. They had three directions to choose from. "Oh shit." Dean said. "Um, I don't even know where we are. I don't even know if we're still on freaking planet Earth."

Castiel raised his head. "East. He nodded to the rightmost path. "Stay east. Towards the sun."


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Wings to the Wall Authors: Seven Hyde and Twisted Skyward, also known as Legolyn Fay and Avery Rated M: For graphic violence and foul language. Pairing: None, although you could read it as Dean/Castiel if you wanted too.

Disclaimer: Supernatural, it's characters and concepts do not belong to us. This is a non-profit, non-riot fic, written solely for enjoyment. No infringement is intended.

Authors' Note: This story is a work in progress, in that we are working on it as we go along. It's an AU to the extent that it doesn't fall in the realm of the series, but the characters and their world are the same. Enjoy!

Legolyn's Note: sorry, this was much more delayed than we expected, but have no fear, your fingernails can stop clinging onto that cliffie. at least until you finish reading this chapter, heh heh. also, the utter lack of capital letters in this note was intended to harm avery's psyche.

Dean's breathing was labored. The damn hallway seemed endless. Just a long stretch of white, going nowhere. Castiel was barely breathing, and Sam kept looking at him with questions all over his face, "How do we fix this?" and "What do we do?" pouring from his brother's eyes. He couldn't look at him. He didn't have those answers.

"Cas." Dean muttered, as the hallway took yet another long winding turn. "Is there any end in sight to this? Can you just, you know, zap us out of here?" The angel didn't raise his head, and when he spoke, it was a pain-filled whisper.

"I do not know. I have little…little power-" he gasped, inhaling sharply, "But I may be able to get us out, to the place where we were taken from. I pray it will be enough." He opened his eyes to look at Dean, and the hunter's heart clenched. All that pain, and the angel was still willing to try to get them out. He looked away, at Sam, and nodded.

"Fine. Poof us. Just as long as we end up somewhere other than the freaking Hall of Eternal Bullshit." His legs were beginning to wobble with every step, his strength not enough to keep them going much longer.

Castiel whispered something, a fervent string of syllables and pressed his hands to both brothers' heads. When the light cleared from their eyes, they were next to the Impala in the parking lot of an empty gas station. The angel had passed out cold.

Dean grunted, pulling Castiel to him before he hit the ground. "Sam. Help me get him into the back." The brothers leaned down and grabbed the angel by the arms, carefully maneuvering him into the back. Dean plopped himself into the driver's seat, exhaustion weighing him down.  
"What the hell do we do now?" He muttered, resting his head on the steering wheel. He had a bleeding angel in his backseat, the whole of Heaven after his brother's blood, a headache the size of Montana, and not even the hint of a plan. Luckily, Sammy could always be counted on in a crisis.

"Bobby." Sam said firmly. "He might know what...what's next." He looked at Dean critically. "Hey, man. You gonna be ok?" Dean gave him a Look. Sam shook his head and looked away. "It's a simple question."

Dean turned and faced forward, and put the car in gear, choosing to ignore the question, simple or not. "Bobby's it is. We gotta get Cas taken care of. Angels don't pass out." He glanced at the unconscious form in the backseat. "At least, they're not supposed to." He hit the gas and peeled away from the curb.

"He was weak as it was, what with...you know. But he still found the power that got us out of there." Dean knew Sam was just trying to be reassuring, but he really wished he'd stop talking. Sam shook his head. "He's either suicidal, or he actually gives a real damn about us."

"Well, then he's suicidal." Dean's tone made it clear that the conversation was over. Night fell as the Impala made its way steadily towards their only safe haven.

Some time later, Dean had lost count of the hours. Castiel lay face down on Bobby's sofa, still dead to the world. Dean paced the floor near the desk with his hands buried in his pockets, trying not to look at him. This wasn't going to be an easy conversation. "We have to cut the rest of the wings out, Bobby."

Bobby nodded, face stern and impassive. He hadn't said much since the boys had shown up, didn't ask for the story, just accepted Dean's pained eyes and Sam's worried hand wringing with usual stalwart grace.

Dean glanced at the hard expression on Sam's face, flicking his eyes down to the floor quickly, unwilling to look his brother in the eye. Bobby didn't miss the gesture, as Dean knew he wouldn't, and he blinked in acknowledgement. Sam needed to be gone.

"Yeah, you're right. But I don't have the supplies we're gonna need for a job like this. Bandages, antiseptic, hell, he might even need stitches, I don't know." He looked at Sam. "There's a drug store up the road a piece. Clean them out, and get back here, got it?"

Sam looked at him for a moment, clearly unhappy. "Bobby, I don't think we should do this. How do we know what pulling out an angel's wings does? We could kill him."

Bobby stepped into him, with an expression that invited no questions. "I don't recall putting this to a vote. Now get goin'." Sam was silent, and he looked at Dean imploringly for a moment. When his brother refused to meet his eyes, he nodded and walked out the door.

Bobby looked at Dean as the door slammed shut. "There's only one thing I can't figure. I'm not looking at the body of the sumbitch that did this to your angel, and I'm a mite curious as to why that is."

Dean froze for a moment, staring at the man. His head dropped and his shoulders raised defensively. Emotion tugged at his face, but he shut it down. "Because. I did it." He refused to look Bobby in the face. "I cut his wings off."

Bobby didn't flinch, or show any kind of emotion at the statement. He'd figured as much, from the way Sam kept looking at Dean like the boy would break any minute, and the guilty way Dean wouldn't leave the angel's side. "You had a good reason?" he asked.

Dean laughed, but the sound had no humor in it. It was cold, bitter, and hard. "Yeah. I had a damn good reason." He stared at Bobby, daring him to call him a monster. "He was nailed to a wall, Bobby, nails fucking shoved through his wings, pumping him full of poison. I had to cut him loose." He stared at the blood still caked under his nails. "So I did. He begged me not too, but I did it anyway."

Bobby put a hand on Dean's shoulder, regarding him silently.

Dean shrugged the hand off. He couldn't afford to break, not now. "We have to cut the rest out."

Bobby nodded. "What do you need?" He figured he could either press the matter and get Dean to feel his damn feelings about the matter, or go ahead with what the boy wanted and let him preserve his sanity for a little longer. He chose the latter. It wouldn't do to have the angel wake up to find no one had done a damn thing for him.

"A knife. Towels. Rope." Dean studied the stumps of wing carefully and thought he could remove them without too much trouble, God willing.

"For all our sakes, I hope he stays asleep." Bobby went to get the things Dean asked for. "You want me to do this?" he offered, holding the sharpest knife he owned. Dean took the knife, turning his back to Bobby. "No. I started it. I'm finishing it."

He hovered over Castiel, staring at the blood still flowing from the rough wounds. "Bobby. Move him to the table. Tie him down. He's not going to stay asleep for long."


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Same as it has always been folks. We don't own it, tho Avery is asking for a Castiel trench coat for Christmas.

Authors' Note: Well, this chapter would have been up last night, if not for the arch-angel-touching-down electronics meltdown had by Avery's entire dorm! But it's here, it's fresh, it's not entirely in English, and it's guaranteed to make you fear for Cas.

Also, thank you for all the reviews! They mean the world to us, and keep us writing this tragic epic for all you to read.

Bobby and Dean carefully cut away Castiel's coat, shirt, and tie, leaving him bare from the waist up. Without the clothes to distract, the bleeding remnants of the once glorious wings looked even more horrific. Bobby tied the rope around one slender wrist, then looped it under the table and tied it to the other wrist, leaving no slack. Dean did the same to Castiel's ankles.

The angel was beginning to show signs of stirring as he was maneuvered, his vision beginning to clear. He never should have used his power to get the Winchesters out of Zachariah's prison, it drained him too much. But they were safe, and that was what mattered. He tried to make out where he'd been brought.

Dean lifted the knife, mentally bracing himself for what he was about to do. "Bobby, hold his shoulders."

The panic rose in him when he heard Dean's voice, he couldn't understand what he had said, but then someone was touching him, holding him in place. "Dean. Dean!" he struggled, but in his exhaustion, he could find no will, no power, no angelic might. It was like being human. Like being helpless.

Dean realized that Castiel was beginning to wake up. "Oh, shit. We gotta start now, he's coming around." He leaned over and placed a hand in the center of the angel's back, leaning all his weight on it. Deep breath...and he began to cut.

His back was on fire, and he thrashed wildly. He called for help, for his brothers, for Dean, but no one came, and the pain continued. "Please...Dean, help me!" He turned his head, just enough to see what was happening, and sobbed once, a harsh guttural sound. "Dean..no..."

"Bobby, dammit, hold him down!" Dean was having trouble cutting only what needed to be cut. Castiel was wide awake now, and horribly aware of what was happening. He was begging for Dean to stop, like so many souls had beneath his hands, but Dean had never stopped before. He would not stop now. Blood covered the angel's back like a shining cape, making everything slick and bright. One wing was now nearly completely gone. Dean had only to remove the bone that was keeping it attached.

Castiel wailed, pain tearing through all the defenses of his mind. "Dean, stop! I want you to stop, why won't you hear me?"

Dean increased the pressure on the blade, finally snapping through the bone. Blood pooled beneath Castiel's naked torso, running in rivers down the table legs. With shaking hands, Dean grasped the protruding remnant of the wings and lifted, removing it entirely from the angel's body. All that was left was a long, deep hole on one side of Castiel's back. Dean choked back a sob and picked up the blade, moving around to the other side of the table.

Angels rarely cry, and when they do, it is usually over the sins of the righteous, or their fallen companions. Rarely from pain. But the physical pain ripping its way through him was nothing compared to the pain of Dean being the one tearing him apart. He couldn't speak, he couldn't think, he could barely breathe, all he could think is...why?

The muscles in Castiel's back shivered and trembled, convulsing involuntarily. Dean worked quickly on the remaining wing, ignoring the tears sliding down the angel's face, ignoring the ones burning down his own. Finally it was done. The wings were gone. The wounds on Castiel's back were deep, red, and bleeding freely. "Bobby." he whispered. "Needle. Thread."

"Dean.." Castiel's voice was raw. "Why....why wouldn't you stop... Baglen, Dean, ol upaah. Dean, esiasch, ol lava yls!"

Dean knelt by the table and rested his face near his friend's. He couldn't understand the language the angel was speaking, but the tone of Castiel's voice and the pain in his eyes was easy to read, and it hurt his heart.

"Cas...please, God, Cas, forgive me. I couldn't leave you there. I could never." He looked down, staring at the floor. "I...I can't tell you how sorry I am." The blood on the floor was soaking into his jeans, cold already. He looked up into the blue eyes that were so hurt, so dulled by pain. Castiel groaned. "I want it to stop...make it stop..." he pulled hard at the ropes binding him. "Dean, Eol t galuah, esiasch. Ol lava yls, galuah t! "

Dean's face clenched. "I'm sorry Cas. But we have to sew you up. I can't trust to your angel mojo that you'll just heal." He stood, blood covering his hands and legs.

"Don't! Ag!" Castiel breathed. Don't what, he has no idea. Hurt me? Leave me? Let me die? Let me live? His thoughts are a whirl of pain, betrayal, and fear in so many tongues he nearly passes out again

Dean took the needle and thread from Bobby, who held them in a bowl of pure alcohol. He began sewing up the wounds, pinching the edges together and keeping them there with the sanitized thread. For hours he labored, not noticing anything else but the task at hand. Night had long fallen when he finally straightened.

Castiel had long since given up trying to talk, or cry out, or struggle, or anything other than lie there and hurt. He could hear Dean moving around, but he couldn't find the strength to lift his head.

"Is it finished?" he whispered, brokenly.

Dean let a sigh shiver out of him. "It's done." He bent and cut the bonds holding his friend to the table. "Rest. Sleep. We'll see how you feel in the morning."

"Dean..." Castiel turned his head slowly. "May I ask you a question?"

Dean's shoulders tensed, ready for the anger and accusation he knew was coming.

"Yeah. Sure."

"What does hate feel like?"

Dean closed his eyes, trying to steady his breath. "Like fire, and ice at the same time. It burns, and it freezes." He locked eyes with the bloody angel. "It feels good."

"Oh..." Castiel swallowed. "Then this is not it. I cannot feel even that for you. This is just...empty. I feel empty. I don't like it."

Dean swallowed. "Please, Cas, get some rest. We can talk tomorrow." He left the room, ending the conversation. Outside, he paused and leaned against the wall, letting it take his weight. His head dropped onto his chest, grief and guilt like a lead weight on his soul.

Back in the room, Castiel felt, if possible, even emptier. The angel sank into the table, trying to relax everything, but even that hurt. His felt light and unfamiliar without the weight of the wings on his back. An empty feeling gnawed at his insides, and he knew it was not natural. Dread tugged at his heart, and the best he could do was ignore it and begin to recover from the trauma he'd just been through.

Enochian Translations:

(Note: Enochian is the purported language of the angels, as used by Dr. John Dee.)

Baglen, Dean, ol upaah. Dean, esiasch, ol lava yls! - Why, Dean, my wings? Dean, brother, I pray you!

Dean, Eol t galuah, esiasch. Ol lava yls, galuah t! – Make it end, brother. I pray you, end it!

Ag - No

Translations courtesy of The Complete Enochian Dictionary by Donald C. Laycock, and Avery having no life.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: We do not own Supernatural, any of the characters, none of it. Pretty much, we own the plotline, and that's about it.

A/N: We apologize for the delay. Legolyn went camping and had not even a single bar of cell service, much less internet. However, she didn't care, because she got to shoot a shotgun made by the Winchester company, and that totally made her entire month. She would also like it to be known that she got 4 feet of air on her four wheeler.

In more seriousness, we are sorry for how long this took. We are both busy girls with quite a few issues, as you can probably tell. But your reviews mean everything to us, so please leave a review. Even if it's bad. ESPECIALLY if it's bad. We want to fix the bad. We can't do that if we don't even know about the bad. REVIEW. NAO.

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Castiel opened his eyes blearily, clearing what felt like a hundreds years worth of dust was covering them. Gingerly, he pushed himself up off the table, which was still stained with blood. He stretched, wincing as the stitches in his back pulled.  
He looked around the room. It was old, unkempt, and dusty in places. He knew where he was. This was Bobby's house, the man who played surrogate father to the Winchesters. To Dean. Cas shut his eyes for a moment, not wanting to think too hard about the older brother right now. He took a deep breath and padded barefoot towards the open door near him, peering cautiously into the next room.

The slumped form of a man was sitting on the edge of the couch, head in his hands in abject despair.  
"Dean?"

Dean's head snapped up. Cas almost took a step back at the expression of anguish on his face. Abruptly, all the emotion vanished and Dean's face was smooth and unreadable. "Cas. You're awake. Good." His voice was as flat as his expression. He stood and walked over to where the angel still stood in the doorway, wearing nothing but his dark slacks. Dean met his eyes for a moment, then dropped to the floor. "Let me see."

Castiel started to protest, but changed his mind after the emotion he'd seen in Dean's face. He turned slowly, showing him his back. "Is it healing?" he asked softly.

Dean made a noncommittal noise as he viewed the damage he'd done. The skin around the stitches was red, swollen, and shiny. He probed gently with his fingers, testing the texture and the tightness of the inflammation.

Castiel whipped around, slapping Dean's hand away harshly. "Don't touch me, Dean. Haven't you done enough?" The words were out of his mouth before he'd even thought them through, and the hot flash of anger that happened when he looked at Dean faded as quickly as it came over him.

Dean stared. "Cas...are you feeling ok?" He studied the angel's face, a feeling of foreboding flooding through him. Something was wrong.

"I'm fine, Dean. I don't know what came over me." But he refused to look at Dean again. "Where is Sam? And Bobby?"

Dean shrugged, trying to brush away the feeling of unease. "Sam's asleep. Bobby's somewhere around here. I think he might be in his study." He pushed past Cas into the living room, looking at the ruined table. "Come here. I want to clean your...wounds again." He grabbed a towel and a bottle of peroxide. "I thought you couldn't get infected, but I stand corrected."

"I shouldn't be able to get infected." He added quietly, but followed Dean anyway. "...Why did you do it, Dean?"

Dean glared defensively. "I told you already. I wasn't going to leave you there to die at Zachariah's hands. And the only way to save you was to keep the poison from getting into your body." He pointed to the stained table. "Sit."

He did. "I would have rather died than be like this." he muttered darkly. He glanced over his shoulder, glaring at Dean. And not in his usual "the fate of the world depends on you and you are making unintelligible pop culture references at me." way, but something else. Something darker.

Dean froze for a moment at the look on his friend's face, but shook his head. He was being paranoid, and his guilt was making him fuzzy. "Cas, I...I can't apologize enough. I can't do anything to fix this." He looked at the ground, the towel hanging limply in his hand. "But I'm not so sorry that I wish I'd left you. I never will be." He leaned over Cas's naked back. "This will hurt. Brace yourself." He held the towel at the base of the angel's bare back and poured the peroxide down the length of one of the wounds.

Castiel jumped. "Shit!" The word exploded out of him as the peroxide stung his back, and a light across the room flickered out.

Dean jerked back. "Cas." He leaned around to look at his friend's face. Cas's expression was numb, blank with shock. "Cas, you just swore."

"It hurt." He said quietly, looking down at his bare feet. "And you swear all the time."

"Yes, I do. But I'm not an angel. Hell, I'm not even a saint." Dean looked intently at Cas. "I'm going to keep washing out the wounds. Just...keep quiet." He walked back around the table and tipped the bottle once more.

"Fine.", he snapped, staring at the wall. Anger was churning in his gut, anger at Dean, at the pain, at everyone. It was a new feeling, hot and red, and he was at a loss for how to express it. All he could do was clench his jaw and try not to make a sound as the liquid burned down his back.

Dean capped the bottle and walked back around to face Castiel. "Until you're healed, we want you to stay here. With Bobby. Sam and I will be leaving soon, to keep hunting. Bobby'll look after you." He examined the expression on the angel's face. "Cas, really, aside from the obvious, are you feeling alright?"

"Just leave, Dean. You don't want to be here, and I do not want you here. So just get out." He glared at Dean, and for a moment, the blue of his eyes was completely engulfed in black.

Dean jumped backwards, violently enough to hit the floor. "Bobby!" he yelled. Gun. He needed a gun. Dean scrambled to his feet, his eyes never leaving Castiel.

Castiel looked at him surprised, a flash of remorse crossing his face. "Dean, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be so harsh..." He stood, offering him his hand to help him up.

Dean backed away. "Cas, I mean it, don't move." Bobby wheeled himself into the room, a sawed off laying across his lap. "Dean, what is going on?" Dean grabbed the shotgun and aimed it at the angel. "Bobby, his eyes. They turned black. My hand to God, they turned black."

Castiel paled. "My...no, that's…that's not possible."

Bobby looked back and forth between the two. Dean, standing straight with the gun pointed at his friend, a look of fear on his face. Castiel, hunched in fear and pain and confusion, holding his hands palms up and away from his body. He sighed. "Dean. Put the gun down. He's an angel, for God's sake, his eyes can't go black."

"I already possess this vessel, Dean. A demon could not have taken it." Cas shuddered at the thought. "Please." He decided Dean was right about anger. It felt a far sight better than the icy cold of fear.

"I'm not going crazy. Your eyes turned black. I saw it." Dean lowered the shotgun and stepped closer. "And it's not just that, Cas. You've been acting strangely ever since you woke up." He took a breath. "Ever since I cut your wings out." He looked back at Bobby. "He slapped my hand away, earlier. And he swore at me when I cleaned the wounds."

Bobby's eyes narrowed. "That can't be right."

Castiel was getting more and more panicked, not a pretty sight on an angel. "It hurt, and I am...I am not happy with what has been done to me. I tried to save you and you...you cut me apart!" Lights flickered all over the room, and Castiel jumped off the table. "I don't think I'm the one you should be pointing the gun at!"

Dean and Bobby both backed away. "Dean?" Sam's voice came from the next room. "Sammy, stay away!" Dean yelled, his eyes never leaving the furious angel. Sam slid into the room anyway, gun aimed at the ceiling. "Dean, what is going on?" Dean gave him a fast rundown. Sam's mouth fell open. "That's...that's not-" "Yeah, yeah, not possible, I know. Except for the part where it _is_." Castiel now had two guns aimed at him.

Castiel looked at one brother, than the other, confusion and terror written on his face. "Dean, please. I'm not going to hurt anyone. I wouldn't."

Dean had already realized what he was going to have to do, and his shoulders dropped in despair. He was going to have to hurt his friend again. "Dean." Bobby murmured. "Yeah, I know." Dean said. His fingers tightened on the gun. "Wait!" Sam said. "Dean, wait, I have an idea." Dean looked at him, desperate for any idea than the one he and Bobby had. Sam licked his lips, hoping Dean would go with it. "We can put him in the safe room."

Castiel looked at Sam gratefully. "Yes. Dean…yes. I'll stay in there, nothing could...I'd be alright in there." He extended his hands plaintively. "Please."

Dean's eyebrows went up at Cas's easy agreement. "Cas, you're having...symptoms...of being possessed by a demon. That room is _proof_ against demons." He waited for the angel to understand. "If you really are...becoming a demon, you would be in unimaginable pain."

"I am NOT becoming a demon!" Glass shattered as some of Castiel's true voice slipped out in his anger.

The three men screamed in pain as the angelic voice ripped at their ears. "Cas! Please, calm down." Cas took deep breaths, trying to stabilize. Dean took a shaky step towards his friend. "Cas, all things considered...I think it's best that we put you in the safe room." He held out his hand, pleading. "Please, come with us."

He glared at Dean darkly, eyes two shades of blue darker than usual. "Thank you. I apologize for my outburst."

Dean blinked. "Yeah." He turned his back on Cas, heading for the basement. "Follow me."

Castiel slipped past Sam and Bobby, not looking either in the eye, following Dean down the basement stairs.

Sam and Bobby fell in behind the angel, like guards. It made Cas itch to turn and look at them, but he kept his eyes on Dean's back. They trooped down the stairs and through the darkened basement. Dean reached the safe room door, marked with holy symbols, and Cas repressed a shudder. Then he realized what he'd done. Dean unlocked the solid iron door and stepped inside. Cas stayed rooted to the outside. "Cas?" Dean poked his head out the door.

"I don't want to go in there." he said quietly. Something about it terrified him, repelled him. He told himself it was the lack of sunlight, green things, running water, things angels needed and held dear, but Dean's words, and the conviction behind them rang in his head. _'Demon_...'

Dean's jaw tightened. This only confirmed what he already feared. Cas was changing. Cas wasn't holy anymore. He stepped out of the room and placed his hand on Castiel's elbow. He let out a long sigh. "Sam?" Sam came up and grabbed the angel's other elbow. "Get him in there." The brothers tightened their grip and pulled.

Castiel pulled against them, but only with minimal effort. The moment he passed through the door, he collapsed to the ground, whimpering. "Something is not right.."

Dean and Sam let go, allowing him to completely crumple to the floor. Sam backed out of the room, unsure of what to do. Dean crouched down and touched Castiel's back, on the unbroken skin between the wounds. "...Cas?"

"Dean..." Castiel looked over this shoulder at him, eyes wide and terrified. "Help me." They were solid black.

Dean lurched away so fast he tripped over the doorsill. Cas let out a horrific screech and tried to leap through the door, but Dean kicked it shut. Sam twisted the lock, sealing the angel inside the demon-proof room.

"Dean! Dean, let me out! Please don't leave me in here!!" Castiel screamed through the door, and Sam looked at his brother, stricken. "What do we do now?"

Dean pulled himself to his feet, staring at the door. He could see Castiel's eyes through the slot in the door, his eyes still a shiny, beetle black. "I'm sorry, Cas. We have to keep you in there until..." he swallowed. "Until we find out what's wrong with you." He took a breath as though to say something else, then flipped the small door shut, shutting off all contact. He could still hear the angel's screams through the metal. "Come on, Sam."

Sam looked from his brother to the door. "You're just gonna leave him in there?!"

"Yes. I am. You got a better idea?" Dean turned to his brother. "Castiel has black eyes. He is cursing, swearing, acting out violently. Do any of those things sound angelic or holy to you??" Dean took a step closer to Sam. "Or possibly, do they sound demonic? What exactly do you propose we do with our little demonic angel?"

"We fix him. Make him angel again. However possible, Dean, it's our fault he's in there. It has to be his wings, that's what did this."

Dean dropped his head. "Yeah. I know. It's my fault." He shut his eyes for a moment. "So, how do we fix him?"

Sam huffed a frustrated breath. "Uhm...another angel? Zachariah, maybe? He started all this, maybe with the right threats, or bargains, he would..."

Dean laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Funny, Sam. Yeah, Zachariah, the one who tried to kill Cas in the first place, just _yesterday_, in fact, and you want to ask him to save Cas now?" He snickered. "Funny."

"What about Anna, maybe she knows something, or hell, I don't know, Raphael?" Sam looked at Dean, hard. "We can't just leave him in there, Dean, we can't."

Dean shook his head. "Sam, I don't know if you noticed Zachariah's face when he saw Cas, but I sure did. And if wingless-angel-making pissed _that_ bastard off that much, can you imagine how Anna or anyone else would react?" He looked around, almost afraid. "Sam, they would smite me right where I stand. We can't leave him in there forever." He sighed. "But we can afford to leave him for a while. Just until we figure out what to do."

"You know..." Sam stepped discretely out of punching range, and looked at the wall. "There's always Lucifer.."

Dean stared for a second. "Not only no, Sammy, but hell no. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Sam held up his hands. "It's just a thought. We're running low on options here."

"We are not that desperate, Sam, and I'm telling you right now, we will never BE that desperate." Dean was getting angry now, his hands bunching into fists.

Sam paused a moment, letting Cas's cries of pain and helplessness waft through the door. "That doesn't sound desperate to you, Dean?"

Dean's face pinched in pain at the sound of his friend's terror, but he set his jaw. "Cas would never, NEVER even think of going to Lucifer for help. And the fact that you are, Sam, makes me wonder about you." He held his brother's eyes, challenging.

Sam stepped closer to his brother. "Do not turn this on me, Dean. You're the reason he's in there in the first place!"

Dean rocked back as though Sam had hit him. He blinked and took a breath, then turned and walked back up the stairs to where Bobby was waiting. He could feel his brother's eyes burning into his back, and Castiel's screams tore at his ears as he left them both behind.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean sat against the wall in Bobby's decrepit basement, hunched against the screams of agony coming through the iron door. He knew he was torturing himself, listening to Cas's pain when he had no way to stop it. But he could not make himself move from his spot. His mind was racing, trying to come up with a way to save his friend. In the back of his mind, he already knew. But it was a thought he dared not look at. The very idea froze his body with terror, but he could see no other way. And so he sat in the dark, letting the screams rip him apart.

"Dean." Sam's quiet voice echoed down the hall, confused and concerned. "What are you doing?"

Dean's head snapped up. "Nothing, Sam. I'm just..." he shook his head. "I'm just trying to come up with a plan."

Sam nodded. "I've been thinking about that too." He sighed. "I know neither of us wants to say it, but there's...really only one option. And I'll do it, you shouldn't have to."

Dean looked at Sam, utterly confused. "Sam. What are you talking about?"

Sam sat down beside his brother. "He's been a really good friend to us, Dean. I mean…he gave up a lot for us. He shouldn't have to suffer. I figure, Ruby's knife, if I do it right, it should be pretty painless..."

Dean leaped to his feet, backing away from his brother. "You want to kill him?" His mind reeled at the thought, even though he'd considered it himself countless times. "Then what was this all for?" It was the only argument he could think of. "Then what was the POINT of everything we just went through?!" He passed a hand over his face, then let out a laugh. "Besides, the knife doesn't work. I tried that within the first minute I met him."

"He's not an angel, anymore, Dean! Don't you get it? He's becoming a demon! And you're just going to let him live with that?!" Sam looked at him imploringly. "He doesn't want to live with that. Why force him to for your own selfish guilt?"

Dean set his jaw. "I just cut his wings off, so that he would live. I'm absolutely not going to let you kill him." He held Sam's gaze. "There's another way. The only way. And I'm going to take it."

Sam stared at him. "You don't mean...Dean, you cannot honestly be thinking of saying yes!"

Dean let his breath out slowly and nodded. "Yeah, Sammy, I am. What other choice is there?"

"Dean, no. No way, you can't! Look, I understand that you feel really bad about this, I get it. But you can't just let yourself get angel-whammied into something you don't want to be!"

Dean turned his back to Sam and began climbing the stairs. "Come on, Sam. We need to summon Zachariah." He looked back over his shoulder. "Sam...I'm sorry. I really am. But it's my fault that Cas is dying. All I can do is give myself up."

"It sucks that he's dying, Dean, it does, but honestly? I don't care. We need you more, I need you, not some fucking angel using your body. I need my brother, Dean." Sam's eyes were big, frightened. He stared at Dean, his entire body begging him not to go.

Dean glared. "Cas had saved you, saved us, so many times. And you're willing to just let him go?" He stepped back closer to his brother. "We owe him. I owe him. I don't want to be used as a vessel." He closed his eyes. "I really don't. But it's all I can do for him." He locked his gaze on Sam. "And it's the least I would do for you."

Sam stared at him, speechless, before looking away from his brother, to the iron door. "Does he know?"

Dean sighed. "Know what, Sammy?"

"What you're planning to do. Who you're planning to call."

Dean gave him a weak smirk. "What do you think? Of course he doesn't know." He headed up the stairs again. "I gotta call Zachariah. I want to do this before I lose my nerve."

Sam shook his head. "Dean, I can't. I can't come with you. Not, not to do this."

Dean's shoulders tightened. "I..." He shook his head and turned away. "Fine."

"You don't have to do this." Sam tried one last time.

Dean's only answer was the basement door slamming behind him.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean pulled the Impala over to the side of the road and shut off the ignition. There was nothing but empty fields all around him, extending for acres. There would be no one near to witness. He stepped out and walked to the center of one of the fields, forcing himself to take deep breaths. The night was frigid, and his breath left white puffs in the air. Moonlight shimmered on the frost on the ground, which crunched underneath him as he turned to look around him.

"Zachariah!" he yelled. "You're getting what you wanted, you bastard." He turned on the spot, looking around for signs of life. "Come on! I know you can hear me! Zachariah!"

"You presume to call on me, Dean Winchester, after all you have done?" Zachariah appeared, glaring hot daggers. "I should kill you where you stand."

Dean smirked. "But you won't."

"What do you want, boy?"

Dean grit his teeth, forcing the words out, all his instincts screaming against him. "I'm here...to...to make a deal."

Zachariah shook his head. "The angels don't make deals, Dean. Only demons have that trick up their sleeve. However, if you offer something, freely, we might be able to come to a reconciliation."

"Same story, different wording." Dean shrugged it off. "Look. You know...what I did. To Cas." He locked his eyes on the ground. "And so you must know what's happening to him right now."

Zachariah blinked. "I do, yes. I assumed you'd kill him once you knew."

Dean tensed, keeping his eyes on the ground. "No. I didn't."

"Then what could you possibly want from me? Your brother already keeps a pet demon, why not you?"

Dean balled his hands into fists and took a step towards the infuriating angel. "_Deep breaths_." he reminded himself. "_Calm_." He forced himself to relax. "I want you to save him." He stared at Zachariah, anger in his expression. "I want you to save him, and in return, you get me."

The angel stared at him. "What are you telling me? You want me to save Castiel's life, and in exchange you will...embrace your destiny? Become the Michael sword?" His eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"Because it's my fault that he's changing. I did this to him." Dean dug his fingernails into his palms, trying to control his emotions. "It's my fault, and I'll do whatever it takes to fix my mistakes." He took a breath, then forced out the word.

"Please."

"I removed your brother's lungs. I threatened you with the pain of a living death. And you did not sway. And now? Now, you say yes?" Zachariah turned away. "I do not believe you."

Fear shot through Dean, terror that Zachariah would really say no. "I swear it's the truth. I'm giving myself to Michael, if you'll only save Cas." He considered falling to his knees, but his stomach rolled at the thought. He settled for begging again. "Zachariah. Please."

"You're serious." Zachariah stared at him, incredulous for a moment, before going back to his usual cold stare. "I cannot return Castiel to his former self. His wings are gone, he cannot be celestial."

Dean choked down a cry of despair, refusing to let the hated angel see his agony. "Then do whatever you can."

"I can make him human."

Dean looked up at him. He hesitated, considering the options, weighing the consequences. Cas would live. He would be mortal, but that was better than demon. And he, Dean, would have to give up his life, his body, everything he had.

"Do it."


	6. Chapter 6

AND THEN ZACHARIAH ATE CAS'S HEAD. SORRY.

Legolyn: No, actually, we're just incredibly slow at this. We have the next chapter sort of…outlined…vaguely. Just keep in mind that we're two girls who have short attention spans that never coincide. And we PROMISE that this story will not just die. We will finish it.

Avery: You may not like how we finish it, but we will finish it, hopefully without including a moose.


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